


Too Far

by TsarinaTorment



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Episode Tag, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea how to write Virgil, Life Signs, Post-episode fic, this did not go the way i thought it would
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: It’s not normally Virgil that Scott has to pull up for misconduct.Episode tag for 3.06 "Life Signs"
Relationships: Virgil Tracy & Scott Tracy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Too Far

**Author's Note:**

> So I was rewatching some episodes, minding my own business, when this muse blindsided me out of nowhere. It’s a lot of Virgil, specifically delving into Virgil’s head and motivations, and this is a playground that is normally locked and barred to me so I have no idea at this point how well it’s ended up from a characterisation standpoint. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll understand this boy.

"Virgil, can you come to the den, please?"

Scott's voice emerged from his comm with no warning, not even a greeting, and he looked down at his wrist in surprise.

"Is it a rescue?" he asked, eyeing the task he was halfway through and already starting to calculate the fastest way to finish it. "I'm doing some maintenance on Two, so it'll take me a couple of minutes to get her ready for launch."

"There's no rescue." Scott sounded… off, but not in any of the ways Virgil was used to hearing. It was, at least, partially familiar, but he couldn't place it. That was concerning, but he couldn't just leave Thunderbird Two with her dashboard strewn across the cockpit. Rescues had a habit of cropping up at the most inconvenient times, and that certainly qualified.

"Then… can it wait until I've put the panels back?"

The weighty pause on the line gave him the answer even before Scott spoke. Whatever Scott needed, it was urgent.

"Five minutes, Virgil."

But not so urgent it couldn't wait? Thoroughly mystified and more than a little worried, Virgil hurried through putting his girl back together as quickly as he could whilst still being sure he wasn't messing anything up. It was lucky he could do it in his sleep, because his mind was firmly fixed on Scott's odd request.

Except it wasn't a request, was it? As he screwed the last panel back in place, he realised where he knew that tone of voice from. It was the tone Scott used on Gordon and Alan when they'd done something big brother didn't approve of. He hadn't instantly recognised it because Scott hadn't directed it at him in…

Virgil couldn't actually remember. Normally when Scott was preparing to lecture him, he was laid up in the medbay with an injury Scott thought could have been avoided and there was a strong undercurrent of thinly veiled worry. That undercurrent was missing, this time, and despite himself Virgil hesitated.

What had he done to get Scott on his back like that?

Reluctantly, he left his girl to answer Scott's summons – and that was what it was, just like Dad used to summon them if they were in trouble; after Mars and the high of Captain Taylor saying Dad would have been proud of them, the reminder of Dad's _stricter_ side nestled unpleasantly in his chest. Scott had even gone so far as to wait for him in the den, rather than seeking him out.

Just like Dad.

Virgil wasn't scared of his brother, but the little brother in him was scared at the idea of _disappointing_ Scott, and it was that part that dragged his feet along the ground, reluctant to face whatever was waiting for him in the den.

Scott was sat at Dad's desk, glowering intently at a hologram in front of him. Virgil couldn't see what was on it, barring a lot of text, but that wasn't important. What was important was the strong, imposing figure at the desk, distinct from his memories of Dad only because Scott was leaning forwards, elbows on the table.

Dad had never sat like that. Sometimes, it seemed like that was the only difference between Dad and his big brother. Today, with a heavy atmosphere and otherwise empty den – no doubt cleared on purpose for this talk – was one of those times.

But for all that they reminded Virgil of each other and memories threatened to overlap reality, it was still _Scott_ at that desk. Virgil trusted Scott with every fibre of his being, and it was that trust that shoved his reluctant feet into the den to face whatever Scott wanted to talk about.

"You called?"

Muscle memory – old, _old_ muscle memory that hadn't been exercised in eight years – led him to stand in front of the desk. With Scott sat in the chair and him still on his feet, he was taller. He didn't feel taller.

The desk did funny things to perception, skewed them away from reality.

The blue eyes that suddenly pinned him in place left him feeling a foot tall, and he didn't even know what this was about, yet. There was love in them, because it was _Scott_ and there was _always_ love in his eyes, even after Gordon had poured itching powder in his bed when he was ten and the sheer amount had him reacting so badly he'd had to see a doctor, but it was overshadowed by other, darker, things.

Anger. Frustration. _Disappointment_.

Disappointment had a way of affecting the colour that no other emotion could quite replicate. It was the only shade of blue that made Virgil feel ill to look at.

Scott didn't say anything, making solid eye contact that Virgil wanted to break but couldn't.

If the disappointment was heart-breaking, the silence was nerve-wracking. Virgil didn't like silence at the best of times, and took to filling it with whatever he could, whether it was music, the sounds that accompanied engineering, or simply lingering in earshot of whichever brother was the liveliest at that moment.

But Scott knew that, and no matter how upset or disappointed he was, he wasn't cruel. The silence lingered for barely a few seconds before he jabbed at something on his tablet.

An awful choking sound emitted from the desk's built-in speakers, as though someone was trying to breathe but just couldn't. It was one Virgil had heard many times before – _too_ many times before – but this one was different.

A wave of cold – icy, Antarctica-cold – swallowed him up with the creeping inevitability of realisation, dousing him until his organs felt like they'd all stopped working and the blood had drained from his body.

He didn't need the sound of Alan's panicked _"Virgil!?"_ to identify it, and his entire body cringed as he heard his own voice, too full of adrenaline-packed amusement, reply.

The finger that jabbed the pause button was full of judgement.

"I-" he started, trying to find words – an explanation, an apology…

Those blue eyes gave him a look and he quailed into silence. An excuse. That's what he'd been leaping to, but there _were_ no excuses. Not for that.

"Our communications lines are supposed to be used for mission-relevant information only," Scott finally said. The disappointment Virgil had identified in the initial summons had _nothing_ on what was dripping from his big brother's words now. "Strictly speaking, there should be no jokes or banter while we're on a mission, but for the sake of boosting morale, I let that slide."

He did more than let it slide – Scott was almost as bad as Gordon and Alan for it sometimes, but Virgil knew better than to pedantically correct his eldest brother when he was like this. Hell, even _John_ tended to let Scott say his piece without interrupting if he got this bad.

"Still," Scott continued, "there are _some_ jokes that go too far, Virgil, and quite honestly I can't believe I'm having to remind _you_ , of all people."

He winced involuntarily. "I know, Scott, I'm sorry. That was out of line." It hadn't seemed it at the time, not with the adrenaline rushing and a sudden desire to lighten the mood in the collapsed tunnel, but in hindsight, Virgil could see exactly how stupid a prank that had been.

And to do it to _Alan_ , of all people. His youngest brother who had just admitted to him that he was forgetting Dad and worried about them dying on a mission. For them to have one of their closest calls to date was bad enough, where it had been a very real possibility that not all of them were going to make it out alive, but then he'd gone and compounded it…

"Virgil." Scott pulled him back to the present, and Virgil never wanted to hear his big brother say his name like that ever again. His admittance had done nothing to dilute the disappointment. "I'm not the one you need to apologise to." Scott at least had enough mercy not mention Alan by name, even if it hung unspoken and heavy between them. "But we need to talk about this."

_Need to talk?_ Virgil knew he was in the wrong, and normally when Scott knew he knew he was in the wrong, he let it rest after pointing it out. Actually having to _talk_ about it – worse, having to stand there and face the disappointed shade of blue – filled Virgil with something not too dissimilar to shame and apprehension.

The thought crossed his mind that he was going to be grounded. _Punished_.

"Virgil, why did you do that?"

"I-" he started, but broke off. _Why_ did he do it? Adrenaline wasn't the reason, even if it had played a part in him actually doing it. Fear, too. Fear that he really was going to die; that he'd just killed himself and abandoned Alan to dig out his dead body. But that still wasn't the reason, was it? Not really.

Scott didn't push him. For all he was disappointed, and other displeased emotions swirled around behind the disappointment, he gave him time to answer. But then, perhaps Scott knew he didn't know and was waiting for him to work it out. His eldest brother could be a mind reader at times.

Virgil swallowed. "I… I wanted to be like Dad."

The words surprised him as much as they did Scott. Blue eyes widened, and finally Virgil saw something else, something he was used to, flicker in there as well.

Worry.

"Like Dad? But, Virg-"

"Captain Taylor's always going on about Dad, and how Dad never let fear get in the way," he interrupted his brother, words tumbling out with no conscious thought behind them. "How Dad always had a plan, and the scrapes they'd get into. How they always got out of them by the skin of their teeth – writing the book on lunar survival and the asteroid belt's buckle and landing on Mars in the first place." He took a deep breath, considered looking away but Scott's wide, rapidly changing eyes locked his gaze in place. "And Alan was talking about Dad on the way, all the little things he used to do." He didn't mention what Alan had told him – that had been said in confidence, and there were some things he couldn't break, not even for Scott.

Instead, he paused to get his rushing thoughts under control. Scott's disappointment had faded into astonished disbelief, and that hurt in its own way.

He also still looked like Dad.

"Captain Taylor was talking about Dad, and everyone knows _you're_ Dad's son. And John, and Alan. Hell, even _Gordon._ I just wanted Captain Taylor to see _I_ am, too."

He knew everyone looked at him and saw Mom. Even if they didn't look alike, he'd inherited her temperament and love of music. They never looked at him and saw Dad.

"I just wanted to be Dad's son," he admitted. "I wanted to do what Dad always did in the stories and lighten the mood, keep the morale up. It was stupid; I know that now. I terrified Alan. It was unprofessional and Dad would never have done that at anyone's expense."

His cheeks felt cramped, and his vision blurred.

"Virgil…" There was movement in front of him and then a weight on his shoulder. He knew that weight – he'd felt it time and time again.

"It was stupid," he repeated, the words thick in his throat. "I shouldn't have done it. But… Captain Taylor said he'd be proud of me."

The hand on his shoulder shifted, and then there was a firm warmth around him.

"Of course Dad would be proud of you," Scott said, mouth a little way above his ear. Virgil let his head fall forwards until it was resting on his brother's shoulder. "Don't ever think that he wouldn't be. You don't have to be like _him_ , Virgil. You just have to be like you."

On another day, in another conversation, Virgil would turn that back around at Scott, who had spent the last eight years trying to emulate Dad.

But Scott had him in a warm, comfortable embrace and the little brother who had been terrified of those disappointed blues lapped up the reassurance that was being offered in their place. This wasn't about Scott; this was about him and his stupid spur-of-the-moment idiocy.

And the brother he had no doubt terrified more than he'd realised.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into the blue shirt. "I messed up."

"You're only human," Scott reminded him. "We mess up, and we learn from it."

Slowly, Virgil nodded. That was certainly a mistake he was never, _ever_ going to make again.

Scott's embrace was still comforting, but with the little brother no longer terrified, it was the big brother's turn to make an appearance. He couldn't put this behind him, lesson fully learnt and absorbed so intently it was imprinted on his brain for all eternity, until he soothed it over with Alan, too. Reluctantly, he pulled back, out of his brother's hold, and Scott let him. Hands lingered on his shoulders just a touch longer, before they fell back to Scott's sides.

Now that Scott was standing, not sat at the desk projecting _Dad_ , he was actually taller than Virgil, and yet Virgil didn't feel quite so small anymore.

"I need to talk to Alan," he said, hoping Scott didn't notice his voice cracking on their youngest brother's name. Blue eyes – no longer disappointment-blue, but back to their default love-and-concern shade – looked him over, before Scott gave him what could almost be classified as an approving smile.

It was definitely approving, even if the twitch of his dimples wasn't quite enough to qualify it as a smile, and that alone lifted a weight from Virgil's shoulders.

"You should," he agreed. "But you should probably clean up a bit, or you'll scare him." It was light-hearted, almost back to the teasing banter of a big brother rather than the Dad-mirage, and Virgil took it for the olive branch it was.

Nodding, he turned to leave the den.

"And Virgil?" There was something slightly melancholy about that tone, and he turned half back around again. Scott was looking at him, with a small smile on his face that wasn't really happy, even if it wasn't sad. Just honest. "Even Dad was only human."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari


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